


The Bitter Storm

by Mega_Erofan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Past, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Male Slash, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mega_Erofan/pseuds/Mega_Erofan
Summary: All seems fine in Mirkwood with Thranduil calmly facing each conflict with confidence as his childhood friend stands at his side as his advisor but all is not well as Thranduil learns what his advisor does to cope with the stress and memories of his past before returning to his side after centuries apart.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Imagine Thranduil finding you unconscious in the hall from blood loss due to self harm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052785) by [forestofmyown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown). 



The subterranean citadel of the wood elves hasn't been calm since its people were usurped from their forest by the dark forces of orcs and spiders and forced underground to protect themselves. Their king has been strong for many years despite some of the difficult decisions that faced him in the darkest of hours. Despite how prideful their leader could be, having to prove himself and fill the space his father left in the role decades before, he always attributed the success of his choices to the one elf he trusted more than any other, his quiet storm, his Alagoron. Or that was the name he used for him, having known him since they were both young elves in what once was Greenwood the Great. Many others only refer to him as Triwathon for the things he had to do in the past before he became an advisor to him, he wanted someone he trusted by his side and to protect the other from the dangers of his former occupation. He never acknowledged that part of Alagoron around others but it did come up in the quiet gossip of Mirkwood. He denied all claims and simply told the inquirers to trust their king's judgment and not the words of those that only wish to stir trouble. Feigning innocence on both sides couldn't last for long but the Elf King was determined to protect his storm at all costs. If only others would tire of digging into Alagoron's abandoned past. He still recalls the night he found him at the gates to his kingdom, how his heart fluttered upon sight of his old friend and the burden the other had obviously carried during their years apart. He confessed everything to him, what desperation had forced him to do to survive and how heavy his guilt had become. He pleaded for asylum in his kingdom as no other king would be willing to grant it to him but there had always been a home for the other under Thranduil's rule.

Alagoron left behind his misdeeds some years back to serve as the ever-vigilant, eternally loyal advisor to his king and beloved friend. Even if people still whisper in the shadows about his past actions, he tries to ignore it and wear a face of confidence in his time with Thranduil but the king knows his dark past still weighs upon his soul greatly. He never falters when others accuse him of being a potential traitor or when faceless villains pin threats to his door with daggers, but Thranduil knows the deep wounds they cause the other and feels the pain reverberate in himself. The two have always shared a deep connection since their youth and even after years apart, their bond was still just as strong. Even now, the King of Mirkwood can feel the weight of his advisor's sorrow though it doesn't show in his eyes, the other's face is stoic as he receives yet another accusation from a "concerned citizen".

"That's quite enough, Lainien."

The young brunette Wood Elf turns to her king at the sound of her name. "But my liege"

"I won't stand by and let you or anyone else continue making these ridiculous claims about my most trusted advisor." Thranduil states as he rises from his throne.

"Do you not even realize what risk you are putting yourself in?" Lainien argues. "Leaving yourself vulnerable to the likes of _a belthor_? Have you not heard the stories?"

"I have but I'm wise enough to know them to be only that: stories crafted by those that wish to see the monarchy crumble," Thranduil explains "and I'm shocked that someone of your wit would be such a fool to believe those tales."

"But is it not true that he came to you in the night and became your advisor the following morning?" Lainien inquires. "With not even an explanation of where he came from or why he came here?"

"I did explain myself." Alagoron speaks up, spooking the younger elf girl before him. "Our king respects my privacy and doesn't attempt to spread rumors like those that know nothing. Do you not trust your king’s judgment?”

“I do trust his judgment.” She responds, mildly glaring at the other.

“Then why do you question his choice in the members of his court?” Alagoron inquires. “I have served beside our king for many years and nothing has happened to him in that time. We have only guaranteed the safety and wellbeing of Mirkwood and its people. I have more than proven that I'm no threat to him, he is both my king and my dearest friend and anyone who dares to threaten his life or wellbeing will know my wrath. I’m here as the counterbalance of his judgment and the blade between him and anyone that wishes to harm him. If you still have doubts about your king’s choices, you are more than free to pack your belongings and leave his kingdom but know that my words are the truth from my own heart.”

The she-elf takes a few steps back and nods, looking away and crossing her arms as she reluctantly replies. “Of course, Triwathon. I apologize for my ignorance.”

“You’re fine, Lainien.” Thranduil sighs, approaching Alagoron and placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Not many of our people alive today understand the friendship I share with Alagoron but in his time with us, my father treated him as though he were my brother and I trust his judgments in my choices as well as my life in his hands.” He turns to Lainien, drawing his attention from the other. “I do hope the next time we speak, it will be on better terms than tonight.”

“Of course, my liege.”

Lainien bows her head then quickly turns and makes her way out of the throne room. The Elven King turns his attention to his friend, his fingers gently kneading into a tense shoulder. “Are you okay, _nin mellon_?” Alagoron simply nods, his gaze falling to the floor until Thranduil forces him to look up, stormy blue-grey meeting with stunning bright blue. “I’m not sure how you can stay so strong when our people put so much weight upon your burdened soul. I wish I had your strength at times.”

“It’s not really strength at this point.” Alagoron sighs, his eyes shifting to the side. “I’ve simply learned to not let the words of others attempt to cut too deep.”

“That doesn’t mean that they don’t leave their marks in you.” Thranduil states. “I still sense you’re carrying a heavy guilt from your past. I understand why, but you should know you don't need to carry this burden alone.”

“You already have enough worries in regards to your kingdom and your people.” Alagoron argues, his eyes shifting to sharply stare at the other. “Don't make my weight yours, only a fool would allow such to occur when they carry a greater weight themselves."

“You have easily helped relieve me of the greater burdens of being a ruler without realizing and you’ve been carrying some my burdens during your time by my side.” Thranduil explains. “Why not let me return the favor for being such a loyal friend?” Alagoron glances away again and Thranduil lets his hand slide up the other’s neck to rest on his cheek, gently caressing the face in his palm. “I won’t bother you any further on the subject for now but if you ever feel your soul become too heavy to carry on, know that I will be willing to offer some relief, no matter how slight it may be.” The other nods and the king pulls himself away from his friend. “For now, you should go rest. We both will need our minds clear for the coming of tomorrow.” Alagoron nods again and walks away, slowly descending the stairs of the throne. Thranduil watches as he leaves the room then sits upon his throne again, his hand hovering over his heart as his breath becomes labored.

“Why must you make yourself suffer so, my storm?” The king mutters to himself. “Even now, I feel the cold grip of something dark in you, slowly squeezing your essence, trying to put out your spark as a man would the flame of a candle. You remain strong in the face of accusation but you grow weaker with each passing day from the doubt. You continue carrying this guilt and shame, letting it settle deep in your soul until it begins to rot away at your heart and eventually your mind. Why won’t you let me soothe away such pains? Do you not feel the love I have for you that grows stronger with each passing day?”

“Father?” The Elven king looks up in response to the title, finding his son kneeling before him, deep blue eyes shimmering with concern. “Are you alright? You seem as if in pain.”

“I’m fine, Legolas.” Thranduil sighs, forcing himself to sit up from his folded position, his hand still lingering over his chest. “What brings you to me in the late hours of the night?”

“I ran into Triwathon in the halls after I returned from my patrol in the forest.” Legolas explains. “He spoke and acted normal but I sensed something amiss in the brief time of us speaking. Something dark has settled in him and I’m unsure of what may be the cause. He’s your trusted advisor and beloved friend, so I thought it best to tell you in case you may know the reason and can help him.”

“You say that as though I’ve not tried to many times already.” Thranduil heavily sighs. “Alagoron is stubborn in his nature, thinking he's providing relief to me by shouldering my hardships as well as carrying his own troubles. I feel the exhaustion his past brings to his soul, the strain of having to hold back so much to aid me. I feel as though he’s punishing himself for what he’s done before when he has no need to. I wish I could help him but he refuses to accept my aid.”

“Perhaps this is something you should talk to him about and not just in passing conversations between a king and his advisor.” Legolas advises. “He may not be willing to accept your help, but his soul may continue to grow heavy until his body can no longer contain him. And from the darkness I felt as he passed me, he is fairly close to reaching that point.”

Thranduil nods and rises to his feet, his son doing the same as the two lock eyes. “I’ll see if I can still reach out to the elf I knew in my youth and try to break through his walls. I wish not to hurt him but he’s only harming himself continuing to carry his grievances in silence.”

“Then you should hurry.” Legolas says. “He went into his quarters in quite a hurry after we spoke and I feel nothing good may come of it.” The king hurries past his son as the young elf remains before the throne, his one hand sliding down to an empty sheath where one of his daggers once sat on his hip. He knows he brought it home with him and only discovered it gone after the encounter with the advisor. “I hope my hesitation won’t be the end of him. Father cares for him greatly and I would hate to see his heart broken once more over a lost love.”

Thranduil quickly arrives to the private quarters of his advisor and knocks at the door, anxious when he hears no response from the room. He takes a breath and enters the room, surprised to find it vacant of his friend. "Alagoron?" He calls out for the other but hears no response and a brief search of the room leaves little evidence to where the other has gone. As he combs through the room, he does stumble upon something that surprises him. On the small side table, sitting in the glimmer of moonlight peeking through the windows of the room, sits a necklace that is familiar to the Elven King. The silver chain of the item is carefully piled behind the ornament, a small rainbow moonstone held by two silver vine braids stretching from the stone to the crescent moon accents bridging the chains to the pendant. The necklace was a gift Thranduil gave to Alagoron after the man stepped into the role of advisor for him, a gift of gratitude and a symbol of his care that he hoped would open the other’s eyes. The elf swore to never take it off, so why is it sitting here and not around the neck of its receiver? This worries the wood elf as he carefully scoops up the jewelry then exits the room. “Where have you gone, my quiet storm?”

“Your highness,” the king turns his attention to the guard approaching him “is there something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine. I just” he glances down at the stone in his hands then looks back at the guard “have you seen my advisor tonight? I need to speak with him.”

“Triwathon? I saw him heading to the gates.” The guard explains. “He never seems to be able to rest his body until he witnesses the stars in their full glory. You might be able to catch him on his way back.”

Thranduil nods with a quiet murmur of gratitude before quickly making his way towards the entrance to his kingdom but discovers the gatemen haven’t seen his advisor tonight, unsure of where he may have gone to otherwise slip outside. On his way back into the halls, he stumbles upon an odd opening in the roots along one of the paths to the gates, leading to an old set of stairs he hardly recalls existing. After briefly glancing around to ensure no one is watching, he slips through the roots and climbs up the staircase, finding himself being led to an old section of his kingdom, a large hall now taken by the woods around that opens to a grand balcony with a clear view of the night sky. In a way, it seems the shadows that envelope the forest has tapered away to let the beauty of nature fill the air again, leaving the king breathless for a moment. He then notices that the rest of the balcony has been maintained. The branches and vines peeking over the edge appear to have been clipped back to only peek over the side, leaving the white marble to glow in the moonlight. Several short pillars integrated into the ground are what he assumes to be tables as smaller matching pillars of shorter height surround the larger ones in clusters of four. He carefully walks to the edge of the balcony and peers down, noticing what looks to be the torches that light the entrance to his kingdom.

“How long has this been here without my knowledge?” The Elven King asks himself as his gaze moves to the sky. “Perhaps this is one of the lost halls left abandoned when the darkness engulfed the forest. I wonder who found it and maintained it for so long.”

He glances around the balcony, noticing something nearby to his left, a dagger left lying on the ground. He quickly approaches it and plucks it up, examining it in his hands and discovering it to be one of the Elven daggers his hunters normally carry. Fresh blood stains the edge of the dagger and the king can only fear the worst as his sights drop to the ground, noticing a small puddle of blood and a trail of crimson drops leading into another entrance into the abandoned hall, seeming to lead further into this unknown area of his palace. The king swiftly walks back inside, finding the trail snakes through the corridor of tree roots and cracked marble. The crimson splotches lead him through dim corridors only revealed by narrow moonlit windows, seeming to draw closer when he notices the smears of blood on the walls as though the one who left them was beginning to stumble. He hurries along the path of twisted trees until he finds himself emerging in a darker hallway of his palace through a doorway hidden by more tree roots. The trail, however, continues for a few feet until he finds something slumped against the wall, visibly trembling as he approaches.

He recognizes the other as an elf, a familiar elf with the pure white hair that absorbs the subtle red hue of a nearby torch wearing a dark green and scarlet tunic. It’s his advisor, but what is he doing out here? Did he notice whoever fled out of the old parts of the palace? That’s when he notices the blood pooling at the other’s knees. Had he injured himself while venturing through the halls or was he attacked by someone? His people were hesitant to trust the other, but to go as far as attacking him seemed out of place. Plenty have made threats but they were idle, no one would dare bring harm to their king’s trusted advisor despite his spotty past. A wet sob echoes from the other, quickly drawing Thranduil’s attention to the other as he kneels beside him, discovering the truth behind the blood.

Alagoron weakly grips at his bleeding wrist but it slides down to reveal the smooth, clean cuts blemishing the fair skin now stained red, each parallel to the other as they descend from his wrist to his elbow. They were too clean to be from an attack of any kind from someone else. The Elven King is quick to act, shifting in front of the other who falters to his touch as he lifts the wrist for a closer look. It looks as though whatever damage he initially desired to do was only to be superficial as the last cut halfway down the forearm is noticeably deeper than the others. He also notices what looks to be the scars of older marks just barely hidden between the blood and the open wounds. How long has he been fighting back this darkness like this? The king almost curses himself for being such a blind fool but is surprised when his friend falls limp against him, his breaths shallow and calm as though accepting his fate. Was this what he wanted or was he accepting the aftermath of a brutal mistake? No matter the case, Thranduil wasn’t willing to lose his trusted advisor and beloved friend. He scoops the other up, finding him to be much lighter than expected, before hurrying down the hall, hoping they weren’t too far from his room.

He wasn’t much of a healer but Thranduil did the best he could without getting anyone else involved, cleansing the wounds was no mere task as the deeper of the cuts kept draining life from the other. He managed to stop the flow long enough to apply some herbs and wrap it before continuing with cleaning the rest of the marks. Now the other is resting peacefully in his bed, changed into a set of Thranduil’s smaller robes until he could take care of the ruined clothes now stained in Alagoron’s blood. The king can’t help but perch himself at the bedside of the other, his hand finding its way to the other’s bandaged arm, gently massaging it in hopes of speeding up the healing process to no avail but the movement is comforting for him at least. He ponders how long his quiet storm has been trying to deal with this darkness on his own, when he had turned to such a harmful way of coping, and why he hadn’t noticed the other’s deeply-seated pain until now. Even now, long after the bleeding has stopped and the other breathes easy, he finds himself unable to rest as his thoughts run turbulent through his mind.

Thranduil tenderly lifts the elven man’s hand to his face, nuzzling his cheek against the slender digits despite the blood that still stains them. He didn’t care in those moment lingering at the other’s bedside, all he cared about was that his friend, his beloved, was alive. He shudders at the thought of what may have become of him if he had been a moment slower or hadn’t heed the word of his son on the matter. The very thought of losing him in such a way causes great pain to his heart, but none greater than the pain of him being so blind to the other’s deep pain that he tried to fight with physical pain. If he had only noticed sooner, he could’ve saved him from marring his own flesh for any sense of relief. Thranduil is distracted from his thoughts by the caress of fingers against his cheek and the gentle sensation of a thumb rubbing under his eye. He opens his eyes and looks up to find the calming gaze of stormy blue eyes staring back at him, cloudy with confusion and worry. Even after being so close to embracing Iluvatar, the other still worries about him in this most dire of times. He finds himself unconsciously leaning into the touch of the other, relishing in the fact that the other was awake at last.

“My king…” His voice is soft and raspy but he still manages to smile despite the other being able to see the heavy sorrow and fatigue in his eyes. How did he manage to have enough will to remain strong in his presence?

“My quiet storm…” Thranduil murmurs “you’ve always been there for me when I’ve struggled with my inner turbulence, yet you were fighting your own deathly gale to remain strong beside me. I wish I had known to give you the support you’ve bravely given me when you had so little to spare.”

Alagoron weakly chuckles, his thumb now rubbing gentle circles under the bright blue orbs he has become so fond of. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He murmurs. “I didn’t mean to go so far. I guess the shadows of my past were stronger than my will tonight of all nights.” A tear manages to escape the younger elf, the first Thranduil has seen from the other in years and he quickly wipes it away, letting his hand rest against the other’s cheek as he speaks.

“Of that, I’m glad.” His eyes lock with the stormy pools before him, feeling his own tears sting at his eyes. “Please don’t leave me, my quiet storm. I couldn’t bear what remains of my eternal life without you beside me as you have been for so long.”

“I didn’t mean to, my king,” Alagoron’s voice quivers as he speaks “I would never wish to hurt you in a such a way but” he grips at his chest with his other hand as hot tears spill down pale cheeks “this abyss in my heart seems without any end. I’ve fought away from it for so long though it continues to swallow me, leaving me with little choice but to fall into it. Now I’m not sure if I can ever escape it.”

“We can and we will,” the Elven king states, drying the other’s tears with his sleeve “if you’ll let me walk with you into this abyss and help you pull away from it.” The other glances away, unsure of what to say. The older elf boldly climbs into the bed with the other, pulling him into an embrace with his chin resting on the other’s head. “I’ve sensed your pain for many months now, our connection from our youth becoming strong as before we parted and perhaps even stronger now.” Alagoron looks up at the other in confusion and is surprised when his king gently kisses him on his brow. “Our bond is something I have come to cherish, Alagoron, and I wish for nothing to shatter it, even death.” He takes his friend’s hand into his own and brings it between them, peppering kissing along the bandages and back up to plant a lingering kiss on the other’s palm. “I know you feel that strength between us as well, so let me help you. I’ve lost many others already to the cruelty of this world, even my once-beloved, and I refuse to let it take another from me.”

Alarogon meekly smiles and nuzzles into the neck of his king, feeling his tears stain the other’s robes but is reassured by the other pulling him flush against his body. “Of course, my eternal spring. Let us endure this dark gale together.”


End file.
